


Threads of Fate

by A_Random_NPC



Series: Voidsinger [10]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood, Blood and Injury, Child Death, Explicit Language, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Gore, Minor Character Death, Murder, Torture, Trauma, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:00:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26655529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Random_NPC/pseuds/A_Random_NPC
Summary: Sinnlyra Voidsinger reveals to her closest friends the gruesome details of her past - and what she did in order to recover her memories.PLEASE READ THE CONTENT WARNING BEFORE READING.
Series: Voidsinger [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796173
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	Threads of Fate

**Author's Note:**

> CONTENT WARNING:  
> Blood, death, trauma, abuse, torture, violence, gore, injuries, language, mild sexual themes, suicidal intent.  
> PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION.
> 
> Alvenyr Moonsorrow, Sevarith Moonsorrow, and Tyrvalin Duskmourn belong to @Vaethryn on Twitter. Art of the lads and her other work can be found here: https://twitter.com/vaethryn
> 
> This story was told through a combination of in game roleplaying and writing by me in collaboration with Vae.
> 
> Fan art of Kraken, Tyr, and Pipbis made by our amazing friend @Kudgen_art: https://twitter.com/kudgen_art/status/1368318065012834308
> 
> 2/15/2021: some small edits have been made to better reflect Tyr and Sev's apartment.

The tiny imp cautiously peeked its head around the stone wall to peer about the Redoubt for its target. It hissed and recoiled at the sight of so many demon hunters in one place, their instincts making them hone in on its presence immediately despite its attempts to hide. Only it's unwavering loyalty to it's mistress could have promoted it to come to a place where it was considered prey. It screeched when a demon hunter spotted it and tossed her warglaive, sending chips of stone flying at its head as it scampered toward the man it sought. He was lazily reclined on a crenellation overlooking the bay, pointedly ignoring the ruckus behind him.

“Stinky!” It keened as another warglaive whistled overhead. “Help Pipbis!”

Alvenyr Moonsorrow looked over his shoulder at the panting imp that screeched and whipped its tail out of the way as yet another warglaive embedded itself in the stone next to it. He pushed his long, windblown hair out of his face and swore, recognizing the tiny demon that scurried across the Redoubt toward him. Another demon hunter cackled as he readied his next throw, sending the imp into a panicked run again.

“Hey, knock that off, it’s Lyra’s imp.” He jumped down from his perch and knelt to offer his hand to the creature, who leapt onto it gratefully, its tiny chest heaving. Pipbis pulled folded piece of parchment from the belt around its middle and handed it to the demon hunter, who put it on his shoulder out of harm’s way. The other demon hunters retrieved their warglaives, making the imp hiss at them from where it had ducked to hide under Alv’s hair.

“Pip, where’s she been? She’s been missing for a week.” He asked as he broke the seal on the missive and read it, his eyebrows raising at the words there. The imp tucked itself next to his ear, frantically pulling more of his tangled hair over itself to hide.

“Revenge then Rift.” The imp whispered in his ear, tugging on one of his earrings for emphasis. Alv winced, but didn’t protest at its rough treatment. “Mistress hurt in fight with other warlock, need time to heal. She not want you to see her hurting.”

“She’s hurt?” The imp felt Alv’s mood shift from concerned to downright predatory and dangerous. The change oddly didn’t frighten the imp. Pipbis knew his mistress may need that side of him by the end of the day. It tugged his earring again, this time harder. Alv resisted swatting it when he heard its nervous chittering.

“She healing. No anger! Be calm, be clever, be brave, but no anger! She need her Stinky. Too much void.” The imp shuddered as it thought of the slightly cold look its mistress had in her eyes when she had called it to her this morning. The reliquary on her hip had done nothing to ease its fright. Powerful energies had been swirling in the center of the crystal with something pulsing at its center with malevolent purpose. Alv was completely still, staring at the note in his hand.

“Have we lost her, Pip?” There was a note of something the demon couldn’t recognize in his voice, but it shook its head in response, its tiny earrings jangling in his ear.

“No. She angry. She hurting. She powerful.” It hesitated, wondering how much it should tell the man his mistress cared for. “But not lost. She need Stinky. She come back for Stinky and Shadow Lurkers and Bear Cow and Flower Mage and-.” Pibpis stopped its chittering when Alv held up a hand. It checked to be sure the demon hunters were otherwise occupied before it leapt into his palm. It wrapped its hands around his fingers as he lifted it to his face.

“You going for Tyr and Sev?” When it nodded, he jerked his chin toward the entrance to the Redoubt. “Then get going. I’m on my way. If you get there before I do, tell her I’m coming. And Pip.” He shook his hand slightly, making the imp screech again. “Stop calling me stinky.”

It blew him a raspberry before leaping into a portal of its own magic leaving behind the lingering scent of fel and demonskin in the air. Alv’s amusement faded as he pulled his warglaives off a rack and tested the edge of one with his thumb, thinking. He had watched one woman he cared about steadily fall prey to the influence of shadow magic. He had meant it when he had promised to keep Lyra safe from dangers from without and within. Strapping the weapons on his back gave him no small comfort as he unleashed a pulse of fel, sending him darting out of the Redoubt and into the Mage District toward her home.

_We must speak. All that was lost has been recovered. Come quickly._

Three sentences, shakily written in her normally elegant hand, on a piece of her stationary stained with what looked like blood. She need Stinky, the imp, who normally resented him, had said. If she needed him, he’d be there for her.

Even if it meant he’d only be there to control whatever twisted magic she had unleashed.

\------------

Pipbis chittered angrily at the man who lay snoring on the couch, a rum bottle tucked up on one side and a sleek black cat on the other. The cat growled low in his throat, his tail lashing at the sight of the demon. The imp blew a raspberry at the creature, who hissed and readied himself to pounce. Hissing back fearlessly, the imp braced itself to run the second the cat moved. The cacophony failed to wake the pirate, who continued to sleep through the drama that was unfolding in front of him. With a final wiggle, the cat leapt toward the imp, who frantically scrambled out of the way. The momentum of the jump carried the cat into the far wall with a thump, making it yowl unhappily as the imp clambered up the couch and onto the man’s chest. Pipbis made a rude gesture at the cat and turned to the pirate who continued to snore. It was confused a moment over the lack of his customary eyepatch and ponytail, but soon recognized the pirate as his intended target. Hearing the cat growling as he readied for his next attack, it slapped the sleeping man sharply across the face with its tail.

“Blast it all, can’t a man sleep?” The pirate roared as he lurched forward, sending the imp flying from his chest. The black cat darted, his paws snagging the demon to pin it against the floor with a hiss. A screech rose from the demon’s throat as the cat’s claws dug into its chest, though it made no move to defend itself. The man scrubbed his face with a hand and blinked blearily toward the noise. Hearing one of their masters' voices had summoned several other cats from around the home, their plaintive meows for breakfast adding to the din even as the black cat screeched its displeasure at the imp’s presence.

“Hey, none of that now. Get off it, Kraken.” The black cat yowled as it was unceremoniously hauled off of the imp and sent off with a gentle toss toward its brethren. The man pushed his loose hair out of his face and regarded the imp through narrowed eyes, recognition dawning quickly when it sat up with a wince.

“Pip? Fuck, sorry mate, let me get you up.” Tyrvalin Duskmourn gently lifted the creature by the scruff of its neck, making it swing angrily at him, sending it spinning. It shook its head vigorously when the pirate lifted it to his face to inspect the wounds before dropping it in his palm. The demon coughed, stamping its foot against his hand until it caught its breath and squeaked,

“Bad cat! Very bad cat!” Pip’s patience, what little it had, was worn thin. It ripped the second missive from its belt and shoved it in Tyr’s face. “You take, you go! Mistress Lyra need her Shadow Lurkers.” It chittered angrily and jumped to his shoulder, hooking onto his ear and tugging it sharply. “You read! Now!”

“Fine, fine, I’m reading, I’m reading.” Tyr ripped open the parchment, his lips moving as he slowly read. Pibpis grumbled in his ear, distracting him until he shushed it so he could concentrate on the message. The frayed, dirty parchment was nothing like the longer, neat letters loaded with enchantments to help him read them she normally sent. It had been over a week since her last missive, though that was often normal when she was fixated on a new commission.

_We must speak. I remember. Come as soon as you can._

He swore creatively, scattering cats as he marched across the room to another. The cats mewed or yowled in protest depending on their nature as he clambered up the ladder to the loft that served as their bedroom. A knife whistled past his head to embed itself in the railing, making him smirk despite the potential gravity of the situation. Sevarith Moonsorrow was sitting up in bed, another knife at the ready, a grey tabby curled up on his pillow by his head giving an angry mew at being disturbed. A pulse of void flashed across her fur until Sev reached out to pat her head, whispering something to her that changed her growls into happy purrs. Tyr crossed his arms and rested his chin on them at the edge of the loft, tapping the hilt of the dagger where it still vibrated from impact with a smirk.

“Getting slow, lover.”

“Coulda hit ya if I wanted.” Sev growled back. His eyes narrowed as he recognized the imp that tittered on Tyr’s shoulder, holding on to his hair for stability. The tabby yawned and stretched, taking over Sev’s part of the bed when he rose to yank the dagger out of the wood of the railing. Tyr extended the parchment to him, which he glanced at and tossed onto the bed before beginning to dress.

“Trouble?”

“Maybe. She remembers everything.” Sev nodded and began tucking his pants into his boots, strapping on more knives as he did so. Tyr joined him, each man getting dressed and carrying enough weapons on their persons to fill an armory by the time they were done. Tyr patted Pip’s head reassuringly as it shifted from side to side nervously. It rubbed its cheek affectionately against his thumb like one of his cats, chittering softly. Pip held a great deal of affection for the pirate that it knew was shared by the other demons that served its mistress. Of all her friends, he was the one they liked the most and based on the way he treated them, the feeling was mutual. It purred slightly when he scratched its back for a moment, a gesture that very few people knew the imp enjoyed. Sev lit a cigarette, smoking it as he fed the cats that twined about his ankles affectionately, mewing at him. He crouched to place the bowls down, patting each cat as they came to eat, a soft smile on his normally expressionless face.

“Tell Lyra we’re on our way, Pip. We’ll come in through the roof.” Tyr said, filling the water bowls for the cats. Kraken hissed when it saw the imp, who made an exceptionally rude gesture to it when Tyr set down the bowls “Anyone else going to be there?”

“Stinky there.” Pipbis hissed back. Tyr laughed at the nickname Lyra’s demons had coined for Alvenyr. Sev smirked as he extinguished his cigarette in his palm and flicked the butt into their sink. The imp twisted its hands, suddenly nervous. “Pip disobey Mistress, get Stinky first. She need her Stinky and Shadow Lurkers. Be nice, be clever. She angry, hurt, powerful.” When both men frowned at it, it chittered back at them. “She need friends, not scolding.”

“We’ll be there, Pip. Go on home now, tell her we’re coming. We’ll steal some food on the way over but don’t tell her that.” Tyr said as he lowered the imp to the counter, safely out of reach of the cats. The pair slipped out of their door, disappearing with a whoosh of their own special brand of magic into the shadows, vanishing in plain sight.

His task completed, Pipbis sighed and disappeared into a portal of his own, reassured his mistress wasn’t going to be alone for much longer. Her friends were coming, the dangerous ones, the ones that would keep her safe. He would tell his fellow demons to prepare, just in case they were needed. It grinned thinking of the fun she had let them have playing with the other warlock and hoped that she’d give them a repeat performance like that again soon.

\------------

It should have come as no surprise to Lyra when Alvenyr was the first to arrive at her home after sending Pipbis on his mission. Though she had clearly asked the imp to deliver the demon hunter’s missive last, it had taken matters into its own hands and done otherwise. She normally enjoyed the sight of the tall man walking through her door, but this time having him appear without warning provoked an uncharacteristically violent response.

The second her door opened she was on him, ripping a rift open across the room, silently appearing behind him in a burst of frigid air. Scarves of violet smoke wrapped themselves around him, holding him fast as she kicked him to his knees from behind. Another rift brought her in front of the kneeling man, allowing her to snake crystallized knives made of those same smokey void tendrils that twisted around her arms up to lightly press against his skin. She snarled as she held one knife against his throat and the other poised to gut him, her eyes wild. Neither of them moved for a long moment before Alv slowly leaned forward, pressing against the blade at his throat, leveling a wicked smirk up at her. When he captured her lips with his own, it startled her enough that she didn’t even notice how easily he broke the bonds she had shackled him with in a burst of fel flame. The familiar, raspy voice she adored was dripping with amusement when he broke the kiss and said in a low, husky tone,

“Hello to you too, groupie. You should greet me like this more often.” 

“Alvenyr.” Lyra gasped and twisted her hands, dismissing the blades and remaining entropic energy that surrounded her, its cold, violent embrace shunting away with a hiss. She reached out and touched his face, panic at almost harming him warring with the cool rage she had felt at having her home invaded seconds before. Her heart pounded when she realized she had almost wounded him, though her more rational side knew it was doubtful she would have actually killed him. “I am so, so terribly sor-” She was silenced when he pulled her in for another kiss.

“Don’t be. Those were good reflexes.” He staggered to his feet, unstrapping the warglaives from his back and setting them neatly where he could still reach them if they were needed. He gently lifted her out of the way and closed the door, locking it behind him as if nothing had happened. “You’re getting fast.” He paused, rolling his shoulders before adding, “And more powerful. Not like you to have that kind of reaction. What happened?”

“That is a story in itself.” She replied softly. He frowned and reached out, softly brushing her hair away from her blind eye and inspecting it. The scar had spread itself thickly across her face and neck while she had attacked him, but was retreating now that she was slowly regaining control. Alv watched her face impassively until it fell back into the normal scar lines it took before speaking again. She knew that her eyes were still wild and slightly unbalanced, but there was nothing to be done about that while her mind continued to recover from the gibbering mess it had been for the past few days. 

“Why didn’t you come find me? I told you I’d keep you safe.” There was barely hidden concern wreathing his eyes as he stroked her cheeks. He was treating her delicately, as if he knew how fragile she was. She had noticed him trying to make an effort to be less rough with her over the past few months of their budding relationship, but the tenderness she felt in his hands now was uncharacteristically sweet of him. “I told you I’d go through hell for you, so why didn’t you come find me?”

“There wasn’t time. I needed to act before he knew I had uncovered who he was.” Lyra replied, resting her forehead against his chest, sliding her arms around his waist. His belt caught at her dress, pulling threads from the fabric, but she ignored it in favor of savoring contact with him. “And yes, I was, but it is mostly healed now. He managed to stab me before he was restrained.” After a dangerous pause, Alv began stroking her hair, careful not to snag his claws in her brittle and limp curls. It had taken a lot from her to fight off the void and other corruption over the past few days. His oddly gentle touch calmed and relaxed her, the whispers drifting further away from the forefront of her mind for the first time in a week. The steady beat of his heart in her ear when she laid her head on his chest further balanced her, though she wasn’t at the point where she could admit even to herself why that was.

“You’ll tell us everything.” It wasn’t a question, but an order. She nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. Alv’s raspy voice held a hint of amusement and no small amount of pride as it rumbled in his chest against her ear. “It isn’t like you to go apeshit on someone, Lyra. Kinda wish I could have seen it for myself. You’ll take me with you if there’s ever a next time? Even if it’s just to watch your back?” The weight of the words he left unsaid hung between them, but she nodded mutely again, squeezing him slightly.

“If there’s ever a next time, I’ll even let you hold him down.” The weak chuckle that escaped her had a slightly hysterical edge to it, making his hand still in her hair. “But the likelihood of that particular threat reemerging is nil. He was the only threat, and now he is gone.” Lyra leaned back so she could look at him, the cool rage rising in her once again. Her voice was bitter when she added, “It was needful, Alvenyr, even if I will hate myself for my actions for years to come.”

The look Alv gave her was indecipherable, but he lightly took her chin in one of his hands and kissed her again before murmuring something she didn’t quite understand in Darnassian. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in the scarf around his neck, appreciating the simple comfort he offered. They stood together for a long moment before a loud gagging noise drifted their way, making them part and grin at the two men who had just come down the stairs. Alv smirked at his brother and Tyr, pulling her tighter for a moment as if to show them that he didn’t care what they thought.

“Ugh, what a repulsive sight. Come here, love, and let me show you what it’s like to be held by a real man.” Tyr said cheerfully as he leapt over the back of the couch to grab Lyra about the shoulders and look her over. Satisfied that she was in one piece, he shot a quick glance around the room looking slightly disappointed. “No Luukun today? I brought him a surprise.” Sev greeted his brother with a nod, stopping and narrowing his eyes at Lyra when he caught sight of her face. She shook her head at him once, sharply, before kissing Tyr on the cheek. Sev was more perceptive than the other two, and proved that once again when he frowned at her left wrist, where a bulk of bandages lay hidden from sight under a puffy sleeve.

“Darling, it is rude to offer affection on behalf of your lover. Sev would never agree to that.” Tyr smirked and kissed her cheek in return, the smile not quite reaching his eyes when he caught sight of her slightly rictus grin. “And no, no demon dog for you today, though I can summon him later if you wish. We’ve things to discuss before you run off to play fetch with him in the park. You’ll spoil him at this rate. But enough of that, darling. Thank you both for coming on such short notice.” 

“You said it was urgent. And what’s with the bandages?” Sev’s voice held mild reproach as he tapped out a pair of cigarettes, tucking one behind his ear and lighting the other. He held up his own left wrist, the cigarette dangling from his lips. Tyr grabbed her sleeve and pushed it up, revealing the clean white bandages that circled her forearm. She sighed and carefully unwound them, exposing the jagged puncture wound concealed beneath them. It was mostly healed, through there were still angry red streaks of lingering corruption around the still puffy, raw looking edges. She turned her arm, showing them both sides of it, knowing it was an ugly wound.

“The healers say there will be a scar, but in another few days the lingering corruption will fade-” she began before she was interrupted. A low sound emanated from behind her, making all three of them turn to face Alv, who looked furious. Flames poured from his eyes as a low demonic growl rose once again from his throat as he stared at the wound. Tyr carefully took the bandages back from her and wound them around her arm, once again hiding the puncture marks from sight. Sev tensed slightly as he watched his brother, though his arms were loose at his sides. Ready to grab weapons, she thought as Tyr slowly tucked the end of the bandage back in on itself, ready to tangle with his brother if he lashed out.

“Who?” Lyra slowly turned to face the demon hunter squarely, lowering her sleeve to cover the bandages when Tyr released her arm. She could see him struggling to repress his more demonic side and was oddly touched more than afraid. She had not anticipated this sort of reaction from the normally chaotic, yet seemingly careless man. The depth of his rage echoed along her connection with the fel, warning her to proceed with caution despite the whispers urging her to do otherwise. He snarled at her when she got close and laid her hand on his chest, looking up at him fearlessly, trusting that he would not harm her. 

“Who do I need to kill for hurting you?” There was a shift behind her, though she ignored it in favor of concentrating on the man before her. If Alv lost control, she trusted that his brother and Tyr would do what they needed to protect her, themselves, and even Alv himself from harm. That thought comforted her, preventing her from reaching for her own powers.

“Alvenyr, he’s dead.” She replied softly, sliding her hand up his chest to his red scarf and slowly drawing him down to her. His hands flexed, reminding her of the danger that could come from his claws if he lashed out. Her cold blue eye met his burning green fearlessly for a moment before she stood on her tiptoes to press a small kiss on his mouth, feeling his fangs scrape against her lips as he growled again. “Beloved, he can never harm me again. I made sure of that.”

He snarled one last time before turning his gaze to her arm, pulling her sleeve back to peer at the bandages. His eyes wandered over the covered wound, narrowing as he used his spectral sight to inspect it. She sent a small pulse of her power into the cloth, revealing the enchantments she herself had woven into it for healing, strength, and purity. Through her own powers over the fel, she could feel him slowly leashing his demonic side and mentally sighed with relief when she felt him return to her entirely. Ignoring his brother and Tyr, who silently watched them, he laid a whisper of a kiss on top of the bandages and then a firmer one on her forehead. Sighing, she wrapped a hank of his long, black hair around her hand and tugged it slightly, bringing his attention back to her face. 

“This won’t happen again.” His voice was rougher than usual when he bent down to whisper in her ear. “I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.” Lyra closed her eyes, pressing her cheek to his, acknowledging his words with a soft hum of assent. 

“Get a fucking room you two.” Sev muttered, though there was a small flash of emotion that was gone in an instant when Lyra turned to meet his gaze. When she gave him a tiny smile full of humor, he rolled his eyes and flicked ash on the carpet. Tyr took a pull from one of his many flasks giving her a grin of approval as Alv gave her a very different sort of smile and pulled her to him again, laying an oddly romantic kiss on her lips. Sev made a small sound of disgust, making her laugh in the circle of Alv’s arms. She untangled herself from him and gently pushed him toward a chair with a grin, feeling lighthearted for the first time in days. Alv sat and immediately swung his feet up on her coffee table without a care, smirking at the expression on her face at the state of his boots. Lyra rubbed the bridge of her nose and asked herself once again how she had managed to find herself surrounded by such uncouth company as her closest friends and companions. Although the sight of the three of them against the backdrop of her rather feminine home made her repress a laugh, knowing they wouldn’t understand the humor of the situation.

“Guess the show’s over, huh?” Tyr asked cheekily, throwing himself onto her couch. He tucked a decorative throw pillow behind his back, crushing its tassels and ruffles under the weight of his gear. “You two sure do know how to entertain a man. Pity, though, it was just getting fun too. I was hoping to watch Lyra kick your ass between your teeth, Stinky.” He elbowed Sev, who gave him a tiny smile. “Would you bet on your brother in that fight? I’ll give you two to one odds in favor of Alv.”

“I never bet on my brother.” Sev smirked as Alv flipped him a rude gesture and muttered, “Stop calling me Stinky.” The smoke from his cigarette added a haze to the still air, its warm scent warring with the lingering fragrance of flowers and clean linen that normally pervaded the interior of her home. Lyra made a mental note to air out the house again after they left even though the smoke reminded her of the scent of her father’s pipe as he worked in his study. Nostalgia can wait for later, she thought crossly to herself, dropping the doubloon she had been toying with around her neck with a sigh.

“You two shouldn’t be betting on us at all. But you’re right and I apologize for intruding on your day.” The whispers were returning, their insidious and syllabant voices encroaching on her thoughts like weeds. She took a moment to ruthlessly control them again before taking a seat herself next to Alv. The cold entropy she had clung to in order to keep her deeper emotions at bay was creeping back over her. She reached to the end table next to her and held up a slim leather case that was immediately recognizable as the dossier of information Tyr and Sev had compiled on her behalf about her past.

“This dossier you so unceremoniously delivered last week was the key to unlocking what little remained behind that mental barrier in my mind. I know now that it was constructed, without my knowledge or consent, by a fellow warlock. It, coupled with an Eye of Kilrogg that had been sent to spy on me regularly these past few weeks, gave me what information I needed to track down the person responsible for such a heinous act.” She waved a hand at the three men when they tensed to banish their concerns. “As I said, there is no more concern from that sector, so you can relax. He has been dealt with.”

“Who handled it, Lyra?” Tyr asked as he twisted a knife against one fingertip. He tossed it in the air, catching it between two fingers and pointing it at her, making the void whispers howl in fury in her mind. “Whoever it was, we would have charged less if you’d asked.”

“I didn’t hire anyone.” Her too calm response was met with silence as the pirate realized the implications of that statement. There was a faint look of surprised approval on Sev’s face, though it was gone in a flash. Alv’s grin took on a proud, slightly malicious cast as he silently applauded her from his chair. Tyr, her closest friend of the three, leaned forward to examine her expression, still bouncing the knife he held pointed at her in his hand. His habitual smirk didn’t quite reach the green eye that filled with concern. Of all of them, he knew her best and understood what it would have taken for her to handle a threat for herself.

“So, grey lady, you’ve made your first kill.” He said softly, pride suffusing his voice. “Tell us everything and don’t be sparing on the details, including where you buried the bastard. Proud of you, love.” Lyra and Tyr shared a private smile before she leaned forward to toss the dossier onto the coffee table. Several papers slid out, but no one made a move to touch them. Alv reached out and tapped her arm, offering her his hand as she took several breaths to calm herself and push the whispers back.

“It’s that hard to begin?” His raspy voice was kind as she gratefully wrapped her hand in his.

“In order to explain why I killed him, I need to first explain the deaths of my ex-husband… And son.” The moment she mentioned Perinth, the whispers in her mind rallied, trying to swamp her with emotions to overwhelm her. She rode the wave of emotion, accepting them as part of herself, pushing away the whispers once again. It only took a few seconds, but the struggle felt like an eternity in her mind. “It is a difficult story to tell, so I will keep it as brief as I may. Recovering those memories cost me much.”

“Wait. Did you let them do that mind torture to you again?” There was no mistaking the alarm and disgust Alv’s voice held. Sev stared at her, his cigarette forgotten until it singed his fingertips, making him toss it irritably toward her cold hearth. Tyr scowled at her, slamming his knife into the coffee table, making her glare at him.

“Stop it, you three, it was necessary. Tyr, get that knife out of my table, you’ve ruined enough of my furniture as is.” She replied, her voice firm. “If you’ll allow me to expla-”

“No.” He scowled, his eye burning with fury. It was the first time she had ever seen Tyr show anything akin to temper. “You promised you wouldn’t do that to yourself again.”

“Lyra, you’re already struggling with the whispers enough as is without having someone force your mind open like that.” Alv squeezed her hand, directing her attention to him. He looked angry, but was making a controlled effort to not show it.

“While I appreciate your concern, I am not at risk-” She began before he interrupted her, his rough voice harsh. A small flicker of fel flame darted across his skin, singing the material of the chair he was sitting on. He leaned forward, his voice deepening with emotion.

“Don’t lie to me. You suck at lying. You’ve been fighting the whispers, haven’t you?” When she didn’t respond, he leaned forward and pushed her hair back from her scar and blind eye, peering searchingly at both. It made him pause to see that it was lazily swirling across her face like it did normally.

“I have been fighting the whispers and winning, Alvenyr. We spread the sessions out over multiple days so my mind wouldn’t fragment and had time to recover. The last session was the hardest, but that was three days ago and I recovered from it enough to come home to you today.” She reached up and smoothed her hand along his arm to reassure him, extinguishing the fires that danced across his skin. Tyr and Sev were silent as they watched the two of them. Lyra hesitated, then leaned forward to whisper in the taller man’s ear using the guttural demonic language so the others wouldn’t understand. “My warrior, I will not fall on this battlefield.”

“You had better not,” he growled back in the same language, a demonic echo ringing in his voice. “Don’t make me lose you too.”

“You won’t.” He sat back slowly, taking her hand once more. Tyr yanked his knife out of the table and began flipping it artfully between his hands. Sev got up and made his way to the kitchen in the corner, flipping open the drawers and cupboards, grabbing what he’d need to make tea. She silently laughed at his familiarity with her kitchen, noting he didn’t go for the cupboards where she kept his favorites hidden. A glimpse of the dossier on the table made her expression sober slightly. Talking about her son was going to be difficult, but these three’s rough sort of care encouraged her. There was a slight rattle when Sev put the kettle on and leaned down to light a new cigarette from the burner.

“I won’t rehash what was already said in the dossier, but I will fill in the gaps in the information it contains that no one would know besides myself, my son, and-” She hesitated, suddenly reluctant to say the name of the man who had caused all of her suffering. “And Caemil Lightsworn, my former brother-in-law.” 

“Couldn’t find too much on him.” Sev said from the kitchen. He irritably measured leaves into a teapot before turning back and crossing his arms. Lyra hid a smile watching him, though Alv was clearly struggling to repress snarky comments about his brother’s show of domestic skills. “No paper trails on him, barely anything known. He disappeared for a while, completely off the records.”

“That is because he had assumed a new identity.” Lyra nodded at Sev’s snort of disbelief. “The Twilight’s Hammer had quite a bit of power even after their supposed downfall. He was able to utilize what little he had left to make a new identity for himself, that of one Miles Runeweaver, a private tutor for arcane mages with a good reputation and enough credentials to satisfy any protective, proud mother searching for an instructor for her son. Especially not when the mother has been offered a contract that kept her busy to the point of exhaustion providing support for the Armies of Legionfall.” That cold stillness was creeping up on her again and for once she was grateful for it. Her words were almost mechanical as she continued.

“Perinth was my reason for living. He was my light, my joy, the center of my whole world. From the moment the healers laid him in my arms, I knew I would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant sacrificing my own life in the process.” She closed her eyes, once again seeing that tiny, curly haired baby with bright eyes in her arms. “He was a bright, inquisitive child. But… When he was thirteen, all of that changed. It was my fault, really. Lanthon rarely came home, and when he did we concealed the truth of his abilities from his father. Lanthon insisted Perinth follow in his footsteps, but he had no affinity for the Light. We both kept the fact he was an arcane prodigy hidden from his father until one night when Lanthon came home unexpectedly.” Lyra opened her eyes, and stared off into the distance, idly rubbing her wrists with her hands at a phantom ache. 

“People viewed our lives as being happy, but the truth of the matter is that they were anything but. Lanthon had changed in his long years of crusading. It made him hard, angry, prone to violence. Though he never struck me, verbal abuse was common, as was him grabbing me hard enough to bruise. He would often roughly shake me hard enough to make me dizzy in order to emphasize his point. It was similar to what his father had done to his mother, you see. That night, he surprised Perinth and I in the middle of a lesson. It was the first time Peri had seen his father treat me that way, and…” Her voice dropped off, thinking of the horrified expression on her son’s face as his father twisted her arm, screaming at her about lying to him. None of the men in her living room moved as she sought the words to continue, though she could feel the weight of their silent anger like a heavy blanket.

“No child should have to see their mother in such a state. But Peri did. Instead of being afraid, he was completely and utterly fearless. He forced his father off of me by throwing a shield around himself and me, and told his father to leave and never come back. Lanthon did, and soon the income that had provided us with a steady life began to disappear. It was gradual, at first, but soon it became apparent that Lanthon had found another way to punish the both of us by curtailing what funds were available to us to use for expenses. I was forced to seek work, so when the Legion invaded and the Armies of Legionfall needed support, I accepted a contract with them and sought someone to keep Peri company while I worked. Our newest neighbor, one Miles Runeweaver, provided the answer to that question.” 

“Why did you stay with him, love? You didn’t have to put up with that abusive Light prick.” Tyr didn’t even hide the disgust in his voice. She knew his feelings on those with an affinity for the Light and silently shared them.

“Fear.” Though she whispered the word, she knew they all heard it. “Fear is a powerful motivator, especially when constantly reinforced by your spouse. That changed after Miles Runeweaver came into our lives. Peri loved him. He became the father he never had, more than a mentor, but a friend and confidant. He constantly asked me about Lanthon, to the point it made me uncomfortable to be in his presence for very long. Fortunately, my work kept me busy, though… That wasn’t a good thing. I noticed a change in Peri. Over those two years with Runeweaver as his mentor, he went from a happy, curious young man to a quiet, brooding, moody one.” Sev shoved a mug of tea into her hands and joined Tyr on the couch. She nodded her thanks, taking a sip before she continued. It was sweetened just the way she liked it, a small act of silent consideration from the stoic, grumpy seeming man she called a friend.

“When I brought up that concern with Miles, I was told he was just going through a normal phase. Sometimes teens were like that. Other people said the same, so I tried not to worry. After all, we were living with the reality that at any moment the Legion would wipe us all out of existence. Who wouldn’t be stressed and scared during a possible apocalypse? Then, Azeroth made contact with the Army of the Light, and Lanthon came home one last time.” She sipped her tea, ignoring a muttered remark that Tyr made that made Alv and Sev snort. “He asked me for a divorce, and signed everything he owned over to Perinth. Lanthon left to seek his grand destiny with the Army of the Light, and we were soon told he was accepted, Lightforged, and stationed on Mac’Aree. The day after that letter arrived… Peri disappeared. And my life was irrevocably changed.” Mechanically, she began telling the story, the sight of her living room fading away as she once again lived through each moment of the worst day of her life.

\------------

“Perinth? Love, I’m home.” Sinnlyra called as she stepped into the hallway of their home and out of the bustling streets of Dalaran. She had been given a half day to rest by her employers after she had admitted feeling exhausted by her work load. In truth, she missed her son desperately and wanted to spend time with him, even if it was only for a few stolen hours. It had been weeks since they had last spent anything longer than a hurried meal together, and she ached for his company. Her cloak caught on her hair as she pulled the hood off, tugging it out of its neat coiffe, making her sigh and turn toward the hall mirror to fix it. Her bright blue eyes stared back at her as she reached up and tucked hair as dark as a raven’s wing back into its neat twist. There were dark circles under her eyes that looked like bruises against her pale skin, drawing a wince from her. Too many sleepless nights, too little time to recharge. But today at least she could rest, spend time with her son, and relax until the ever increasing demand for more supplies pulled her back into her work.

“Peri?” She frowned, not hearing her son anywhere in the house. Normally around this time of day he would be in the study practicing with his teacher, Miles, their chatter of magic and runes filling the air. But the house was eerily still, the silence oppressive compared to the bustling city outside its walls. “Perinth, darling, are you home?” 

A brisk walk through the house didn’t yield her son. She hesitated outside his closed bedroom door and knocked tentatively, “Perinth, are you still asleep?” It was possible. His lessons had become more advanced as of late, and he often seemed as exhausted as she was at the end of them. Having only mastered the bare basics herself, she could barely comprehend the massive amount of power her son was handling during his studies. His talent for the arcane clearly came from her side of the family, but the strength of it was all from the Lightsworns.

The handle of his door turned easily in her hand, opening to an empty room. As always, it was tidy, his bed made neatly, books lined up on the shelves in order, writing utensils stashed away on his desk. Parchments pinned to the walls were filled with runes and scribbling she didn’t fully understand herself, but they made her smile with pride nonetheless. Like every other citizen of Azeroth, he was bent on finding a solution to protect their people from the Legion. It was then that she noticed a piece of parchment laying on his bedspread, his slashing handwriting neat on the page. Sinnlyra reached out and picked it up, her heart filling with dread as she read her son’s words.

_Mother,_

_The injustices you faced from the man who sired me are too numerous to count. Although you are now free of his influence, I have gone to ensure he will never again harm another soul. His reign of terror ends today by my hand._

_I love you, Mother. I will always protect you._

_Peri_

“Oh, by the Light, no.” Sinnlyra whispered, panic threatening to overwhelm her. She whirled and looked around more closely, noticing the mage armor she had made for him for his birthday was missing. As were the wand and tome of magic he had been gifted by Miles. “Please, please no, please Peri don’t have done what I think you’re doing-” Lifting her skirt, she ran to her own room and frantically began digging out her own wand and tome. Her hands were shaking so badly that she dropped them twice before managing to affix them properly to her belt. She paused only to seize the most recent portrait of Perinth from her bedside table before yanking open the door and darting into the street, looking for the nearest Kirin Tor mage.

Just as she turned the corner, she was caught by Miles Runeweaver, Perinth’s instructor. By the look of him, he was not on his way to come find Perinth for his lesson. Instead of his usually shabby robes and worn boots, he was dressed in cloth armor in the finest silks money could buy. Runes and sigils sparkled in golden embroidery along the hems of his tunic and cloak, details she would normally have focused on but today passed over in a glance. A sword and crystal orb hung from the braided belt at his hips, both radiating power far beyond what she could handle herself. The taller high elf caught her around the shoulders, steadying her when she was nearly rocked off her feet by the impact, smoothing his hands to her elbows.

“Mistress Lightsworn, whatever is the matter? You’re as white as a sheet.” His unctuous voice did nothing to sooth her as she jerked herself out of his hold. He had attempted to touch her several times before since her divorce, and each time it left her feeling unclean. Something about his person made her distinctly uncomfortable, though Peri had never shared her same concerns. She raised the letter her son had written, making him raise a blonde eyebrow inquisitively at her as he viewed it with curious disdain.

“Tell me you knew nothing of this.” Her voice shook as badly as her hands as he took it and fixed his eyepiece on his nose. He was silent as he read, though she thought she heard something whisper in her ear. She rubbed it irritably, glaring at him. “Tell me you didn’t know he was running away to Argus after his father.” Had she not been studying his face so closely, she would have missed the look of smug satisfaction that flashed across his face before it was arranged in a more suitably concerned expression. She felt a claw of ice race its way down her back as his eyes seemed to flicker from blue to green when he turned to peer at her again from down his long nose.

“My dearest Sinn, there is no way he could make it to Argus. There are guards at the portal, and how could he possibly make it past the troops on the Vindicaar? You’ve never been there yourself, but it is a rather glorious sight.” He removed his eyepiece and sniffed, handing the parchment back to her. “Perinth will be returned home shortly, I’m sure. They would never allow a mere child on one of the most dangerous planets in the cosmos.” He reached out and grabbed her, his hands firm on her arms as he turned her toward her home and began escorting her back. “You’re worrying for no reason! This tantrum will be over before you know it, and he’ll be home soon enough.”

“No.” She jerked herself out of his hold, stepping away from him before he could touch her again. “No, you’re wrong. Something is wrong, and I will not rest until I have found him and brought him home myself.” Irritation flashed across his face. Dread and suspicion filled her when he took a step forward, making her stumble another step back. Fear for her son gave her courage to face him as she mentally strapped a bit of steel to her backbone and said firmly, “If you aren’t going to help me, then at least stay out of my way.” 

“My Sinn, my delightful songbird-” He stopped when she looked at him with alarm. Her eyes widened when he straightened, his hands reaching out to restrain her again.

“What did you call me?” She whispered, backing away from his grasping hands. She stumbled slightly over the hem of her dress, forcing her to gather it in her hands as she prepared to run. “There was only one person who called me that, and he-”

“You sing and you’re beautiful like a bird on the wing, it’s an easy nickname to give-” he said, the lies falling easily from his tongue, but it was too late. She was already gone, her gathered skirts in her hand encumbering her slightly as she bolted toward the portal to Argus. Sinnlyra ignored the shouting from the man behind her, gasping for breath as she fled. The last man to call her songbird had been her brother-in-law, a man disowned for his involvement with the Twilight’s Hammer two decades previously. Too much to think about, she thought to herself as she pushed her way through the crowd. She would deal with that potential issue after she found Perinth. A redheaded woman wearing mail and carrying a violently purple hippogryph adolescent jerked out of her way, swearing at her, but she had no time to apologize. Panic warred with caution as she barreled across Krasus’s Landing and toward the portal to the Vindicaar. The Lightforged Draenei stationed there as a guard pulled her weapon and barred Sinnlyra’s path.

“My lady, apologies, but you do not look like you are prepared for a trip to Argus.” Though the other woman’s accented voice was kind, she heard the steel behind it. She lowered her weapon and made a shooing gesture at Sinnlyra. “Come back when you are better prepared.”

“There is no time, ma’am. Please, have you seen this boy?” Her hands trembled as she showed the other woman the picture of Perinth, wheezing a little as the stitch in her side cramped. A demon hunter strode past with a nod to the Lightforged, who returned it with barely concealed disgust. The tiny woman barely looked like a warrior of any kind, though her red and gold gear was battered and scarred from fighting. It was clear she was known to the guard as she passed by without a hint of challenge. The blood elf disappeared in a scatter of golden motes, off to the distant world Sinnlyra had only heard spoken about in nervous whispers. The Lightforged inspected the picture, biting her lip slightly.

“Not… This boy… But a man who looked similar.” The Lightforged suddenly looked disturbed. “Who is this child to you?”

“My son,” Sinnlyra whispered back, panic warring with her maternal instincts. “He… He disguised himself, didn’t he?” When the other woman reluctantly nodded, she closed her eyes and straightened, trying to put on a brave face. “I need to get to him. Now. He is after his father, a recent initiate into the Army of the Light. One Lanthon Lightsworn.”

“I know of Lightsworn. Step through the portal and seek Captain Fareeya. She will assist you. There is a chance he may not have made it to the surface.” There was compassion in the draenei’s eyes though her voice was hard. “Step through, and remember, seek Captain Freeya. Do not go to the surface without a guard.”

“Thank you, thank you so much.” Relief flooded through her as she tucked the portrait under her arm again. “Bless you.”

“Light be with you, little sister. May your fears be foundless.” The Lightforged stepped back, allowing Sinnlyra to step onto the portal. The familiar feeling of disorientation and falling didn’t even phase her until she stumbled onto the bridge of the ship. She gasped and clutched the picture and letter to her chest at the sight of the fel scarred world that spread before her. She was unceremoniously forced to step further onto the bridge by a band of dwarven paladins, who gruffly shoved their way past her, faces grim as they surveyed Argus through the clear windows before them. The ship was buzzing with activity, adventurers rubbing elbows with the Lightforged, everyone walking or speaking with deadly purpose, safe within the golden confines of the Vindicaar.

“How could anyone survive this.” She whispered to herself, ignoring a large Lightforged Draenei that approached her. Only when he bowed to her did she pull her eyes away from the broken world before her and return his courtesy with a shaky curtsy of her own. His vestiges marked him as a priest, though she did not recognize the rank insignia on his chest. Her eyes widened as she watched a broken and battered druid get pulled through the portal by a similarly battered warlock, both of them being swept up by priests in similar vestiges to the one standing before her, politely waiting for her to speak.

“May I help you, my lady?” His voice was kindness incarnate, soothing her. He wore calmness about him like a mantle, his face serene even in light of the scarred world that spread into the darkness behind him. She straightened, giving him a weak smile through her fears.

“Please, I need to speak to Captain Freeya.” She quickly explained the situation to the priest, who’s face went from polite confusion to concern. He escorted her to a woman and rapidly repeated the story to the imposing draenei captain while Sinnlyra peered around her, in awe of the technology that surrounded her. Despite her growing dread and fear for her son, this place was impressive. Troops marched past, mixed in with irregulars and adventurers from Azeroth. She watched as a tall demon hunter made his way to the portal and disappeared with a burst of sparkling motes, his elbow length black hair standing out against the gold of the ship.

“We will investigate. A man matching that description passed through the portal around half an hour ago. We will retrieve him.” The Captain’s voice cut through Sinnlyra’s moment of inattention, drawing her back into the conversation before her.

“No.” She said firmly, though she shook with fear at the thought of going to the surface. “No, I will go with them. He doesn’t know any of you. I am his mother. He will listen to me.” There was no way that she would allow them to keep her from him. She glared up at the draenei, who were taller than her again by half and tried to show more bravery than she felt. How could anyone survive in such a broken world? How could Perinth have come here in the first place? Was his hatred of his father truly that profound that it overrode his common sense?

“The risk is great. You may not survive the surface.” Captain Freeya said doubtfully. Her temper flared. First Miles, and now this woman was delaying her from getting to her son. The fear she felt was swiftly changed to fury as she stepped up and glared at the captain before her.

“I will not sit idly by as my son is out there in that hellscape!” Sinnlyra yelled. The priest laid a hand on her shoulder, but she shrugged it off rudely, stepping forward out of his reach. Heads turned their way at her shout. She flung a hand toward the twisted landscape that spread before the hull of the ship. “That is my son out there in danger. Even if I do not survive and my son does, it is worth the risk.” The two women stared at one another, Sinnlyra defiant, Freeya reluctant. Finally, the captain nodded, sighing.

“Very well. Promulous, you will stay here in case you are needed. T’paar, Fayeena, you will accompany this woman to Mac’Aree.” Two dragoons stepped forward, saluting respectfully. Captain Freeya led them to the portal, adroitly dodging through the swaths of people who bustled through the space with purpose. She grimly punched in coordinates, nodding sharply at Sinnlyra again. “We cannot stretch our resources any more. Get your son, get to a portal, and get off this planet and back to the safety of Azeroth. But be wary, the Void is active there, as are ethereals.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Sinnlyra let go of her rage and stepped onto the portal, flanked by the pair of dragoons. The paladins said nothing as they fell through space to the surface of Argus. Sinnlyra gasped at the shards of the planet that rose above them, evidence of the civilization that had lived here falling through space. Alien plants and creatures surrounded the golden portal, though the area before them swirled with cold, violet energy. One of the paladins threw his hammer at an alien looking cat that hissed and slunk away. She shivered, the full weight of the situation falling upon her. She knew, with almost crushing certainty, that something horrible was about to occur.

“Panthera.” He grunted at her curious look, though he and his companion both looked uneasy. “Should not be this close to the portal. Where are the guards?” They moved out, forcing her to stay between them. She hastily drew her own wand and tome, flinching every time lightning struck the ground in front of them. An odd, keening singing, so faint she thought she was hearing things, rose in the back of her mind as they moved further into the corrupted area.

“What is all of this,” she whispered, staring at pools of stars swirling into an endless abyss and lightning flickering across the landscape though there was no storm. It called to her, beckoning her to touch it, though the thought repulsed as much as it intrigued her. “I have never seen this before.”

“The Void,” the dragoon replied grimly. “There is much of its corruption here on Mac’Aree. The ethereals have been experimenting on animals here, among other things. It was not always this way...” He stopped, running forward with a shout as he spied the crumpled remains of a draenei. The other dragoon herded Sinnlyra after him, guarding their backs, his hooves clicking on the shattered flagstones of what used to be a courtyard. Seeing the wrecked body of the draenei made her shudder. It looked as if the life had been drained from it, leaving behind a putrid husk of a corpse. The skeletal face was thrown back in a howl of agony. Sinnlyra felt her stomach heave and repressed gagging at the sight. 

“Fel magic.” The dragoon said grimly, standing again. “Warlock mischief.” They started off again, encountering the corpse of the second portal guard in a similar state to the first. The singing rose in Sinnlyra’s mind, its siren’s call enticing and beautiful. She was about to ask if the two heard it as well when faint shouting reached their ears. Her ears twitched, making her spin. She knew that voice.

“Perinth!” Ignoring the protests of her guards, she ran to a broken ledge peered over looking for her son. It had been his voice she had heard, she knew it. “Perinth, I’m coming!”

“My lady, we must insist-” The dragoon looked over the edge and swore, seeing the battle for the first time while she could only stare in horror. She barely recognized her son. She knew it was him, but the screaming, violent, twisted body that hurled bolt after bolt of shadowy flame at Lanthon was not the child she knew and loved. The paladin fought grimly, the Light glowing strongly along the tattoos that marked him as being more than a mere elf now. He held up his shield and caught a blast of power, it’s fire curling into smoke around the edges of the glowing metal.

“Perinth, stop this at once!” He roared, staggering to his feet. It was clear the battle had been ongoing for a while, the bodies of two other Lightforged and several heaps of tattered rags that could only be the remains of ethereals laying crumpled at Perinth’s feet. Sinnlyra gasped as he hurled yet another bolt of shadowy flame at Lanthon. The paladin dove, rolling out the way only to catch the next bolt squarely in the chest. The impact pushed him back, though he made no sound, gritting his teeth and raising his sword again.

“Perinth, no.” Sinnlyra whispered as the dragoons left her. She watched in horror as he turned, a knife in his hand. The rictus grin on his face split wider as he gestured, tendrils of power splitting off of the odd, swirling shield around him. Tentacles made of lightning, she realized weakly as the dragoons were lifted off their feet and slammed into the ground. Pulses of light traveled down the thick stands as the dragoons cried out, their life force being sucked into the shield that surrounded her son. Soon, another pair of withered corpses lay on the field of battle as Perinth turned away, using his newly acquired power to send more attacks at his father.

Sinnlyra acted before she was even aware of making the decision to move. She slid down the embankment, ignoring when her palms tore against the rough ground when she fell and pushed herself to her feet. Drawing her wand, she began frantically reaching for the arcane power that she knew flowed even through this broken husk of a world. It slipped through her fingers as she watched Perinth continue to cackle maniacally as he sent bolt after bolt of power after his father. Thick bands of purple and red corruption ran across his body, frightening her. She had read about Old God corruption with her son as part of his lessons as a child. How had her precious child been corrupted by Old Gods?

_Sinnlyra. Let… Us…. In..._

“Remember the basics, Sinn,” she whispered frantically to herself as she tried to build a barrier between them, sobbing as the power sputtered and failed the second it left her fingertips. Perinth’s laughter turned to a high pitched scream of pain as Lanthon consecrated the ground around him, forcing him back toward his mother. He growled and let loose a psychic scream, sending the paladin staggering to the ground, fear chasing across his face until it was banished by a burst of Light. Sinnlyra lost concentration, pressing the heels of her palms to her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the mental screech. Her wand and tome fell uselessly to the ground as she screamed herself in pure terror. It took her a long moment to recover from his scream, the love of her child and need to protect him overriding the fear in her heart. 

“Perinth, stop!” She screamed through tears of frustration. She ran forward, sobbing, beating her hands against the protective bubble made of stinging lightning that surrounded him. Now that she was closer, she could see the claminess of his body, each corrupted vein standing out darkly against his now porcelain skin. A blood vessel had burst in his eye, tinging the brilliant blue eye a dark purple. His normally fit body was slowly being reduced to skeletal proportions with every bolt of energy he spent spinning off towards his father. Deep cuts in both of his forearms wept blood that immediately was spun up into the barrier around him. He barely spared her a glance as she continued to scream, trying to break through. Her hands burned against the bitter cold of the weird, twisted magic of the shield that seemed to be forged of the same void lighting that struck the area around them. “Perinth, you’re burning yourself out! Stop! You’re channeling too much, you’re going to kill yourself!” 

_He will not listen… But we will._

“This does not concern you, Mother.” He growled as he readied a bolt of power in both hands, his attention still on his father who staggered their way, murder in his expression. “Leave us. Go home.”

“Sinnlyra!” Lanthon roared, pointing towards her with his sword. “Is this the son you raised behind my back? Is this foul creature the best you could produce? I should have taken him from you and given him to my father to raise when I had the chance.” Sinnlyra felt his words as if they were physical blows, each one lashing at her heart. Had she truly failed her child? Had she really failed as a mother? All she had tried to do was love her son.

_He will burn him alive in the fires of retribution. We can save him._

“Perinth, please this is madness! Let it go! Please, let's just go home. Please, Peri!” Her screams had turned to harsh whispers, barely heard over the singing in her mind. She swatted weakly at her ears, trying to push away the intrusive thoughts and songs that pressed against her mind, trying to focus on breaking through to her son again. She raised her hand one last time, trying to weave a spell that would break through his shield, and cried out when it failed once more.

_Chase the stars, Sinnlyra. We can help you save him._

She didn’t even comprehend the blow that knocked her away. One moment, she was standing and the next she was laying prone next to a swirling pool of stars, her ears ringing from the impact. With a start, she realized the blow hadn’t come from Lanthon like she had expected. It had come from Perinth, who stared at her coldly before turning once again to the threat that was his father. She reached up and touched the trickle of blood that ran from the wound on her chest, too stunned for words. The thick, viscous liquid in the swirling pool of death sang to her as she groaned and pushed herself back to her feet, her hands stinging as dirt was ground deeply into the cuts in her palms. The singing became a welcoming croon when she stumbled and nearly fell into the dark abyss, catching herself mere inches away from the edge.

_Come to us. We will protect you all._

“Who is this person that has taken my son.” She muttered, the pain of the burn on her chest washing over her. Her hands were stained with her blood, burned and torn from the shield and her fall. Her hair fell over her face, no longer in its neat twist on her head, dirty and tangled from the fall. The singing rose in her mind as she numbly watched Lanthon attack Perinth with a flurry of blows that drove him back onto consecrated ground. Their strength was fading judging by the weakness in the blows and the sluggish way they reacted to one another. A trickle of blood ran from Perinth’s nose, another sign he was burning up from the inside out. Lanthon saw it too and bared his teeth, striking at his son once again.

_We can help. We can give you the power you need._

“Please,” she muttered through her dazed tears, the sight of her son blurring. She was lost, alone, heartsick, and scared to the point of tears. The icy comfort of the whispers in her mind soothed her heated emotions with their reassurances. “Please, I will do anything. Only help me save my son.”

_We can help you. Come to us. Come to us and let us protect you both._

“What other choice do I have?” She knew the answer even as she stepped toward the cold embrace of the Void, the whirlpool hypnotically drawing her closer as she watched its lazy spin into nothingness.

_None._

Without a second thought, she stepped into the void pool, surrendering her whole self to the whispers that had sang their siren’s song so compellingly. 

“Help me save him,” she whispered. “I give you my everything. Only help me protect my son.” There was a momentary pause as everything seemed to still, the singing in her mind falling silent in the face of absolute nothingness. The silence was broken by an exhaultant chorus as void energy slammed into her, knocking her to her knees. The scream that tore through her throat was an animalistic cry of pain as she was flooded with icy power so cold it burned. Another shout made her raise her eyes towards her beloved son, focusing her. She struggled to her feet, fighting to control the power as she began weaving a spell that would break the barrier her son had around him and redirect it to separate the warring pair.

“Steal the spell, my lovely Sinn,” her father’s voice sang in her mind. Funny, she didn’t remember his voice sounding like a full chorus in song. “Steal it and redirect it with your will. You can do this.”

“Yes Father,” she whispered as she finished the spell, sending it hurtling across the space between her and the combatants that had fought one another to a standstill. There was a moment of fierce joy when she saw Perinth’s shield break, reassembling itself into an immovable barrier of lightning between the pair. Lanthon leapt back with a curse and turned to her, his face going from anger to shocked disbelief at the sight of her. She laughed and pushed more power into the barrier, forcing the man that had abused her for decades away from her son. 

The power coursed through her, feeling nothing like the arcane magic she had always struggled to control. She reveled in it, the strength and darkness that swam around her warring with Lanthon’s burning Light. It sang to her even as she sang back, her entire being exhaultant as she manipulated the power with nothing but sheer force of will. There was no skill needed, she thought, only strength. The keening song in her voice gave a discordant hum at that but she ignored it, turning to check on her son while the paladin began attacking the barrier.

Relief suffused her when she caught sight of her son still standing, mutely staring at the protection she had thrown between him and his father. Her heart sang, knowing that this time it was she that had protected him and not the other way around. Her joy lasted only until Perinth wobbled on his feet and fell to his knees, no longer the conduit for the powers that had been eating him alive. Her moment of triumph slipped into panicked fear when she watched him fall. That moment of inattention broke her concentration and hold on the barrier, allowing the power to slip through her fingers.

Time seemed to slow as she watched the magic explode into thousands of streaks of purple lightning that reached for her ex-husband and son. She couldn’t even scream as it ripped through her fingers, completely out of control. She didn’t have the knowledge how to pull it back, didn’t know how to contain it. She had never learned how to handle such massive bouts of energy. Her hands desperately reached out even though she knew it was too late to save them. Perinth was too weak to even move as the lightning struck him in a thousand places, lighting up the surrounding area with a brilliant white light. When her vision finally cleared, she screamed at the sight of the charred, blackened corpse that had been her beloved son and half of her soul. Lanthon lasted mere moments longer, his Lightforged tattoos glowing against his skin as it fought off the Void as it burned him alive. His agonized scream warred with the jubilant singing in her head as she keened her grief, falling to her knees to attempt to crawl to what little remained of Perinth.

“My boy, my precious baby boy.” She couldn’t tell if the words were hers or those of the damned Void as she crawled on all fours towards the twisted remains of her child. Ignored and completely out of control, her lighting wall crackled and spit, burning what little remained of the other corpses on the battlefield. It hissed close to her head, distracting her from her goal, the singing in her mind forcing her to look upon her creation one last time. 

When the power rebounded back to her, she didn’t even try to avoid it. She simply reached out one last time toward her son and then welcomed the agonizing death the lightning offered within its depths with open eyes and an open heart. Her last thought was one of bitterness, wondering if Perinth could ever forgive her for what she had done.

\------------

The room was utterly still as Lyra fell silent, her words falling from her lips like stones in a pond. She didn’t dare look at any of her friends, men she knew had been deeply wounded in their own ways by their own parents. Instead, she focused on the empty mug of tea she held so tightly her hands were white. The sight of it blurred as tears filled her eyes, though she felt nothing but numbness in her already too broken heart. When the silence became unbearable, she stood and walked to the kitchen, her eyes on the floor. There was a creak of leather as someone stood to follow her, but she couldn’t tell who it was until she set down her mug and was pulled into a rough embrace by Tyr.

The dam she had held firm against the torrent of emotions she had felt retelling the story cumbled in the face of his silent support. He had been the first person who had seen past her scars, odd demeanor, and skeletal appearance, the first who had offered her anything resembling kindness and friendship after waking in the Rift. From the moment he had popped up in her life with his devil may care smirk and cocky attitude, she had felt nothing but love and support from him and the others he introduced her to in the months that followed. To have him not turn away from her after revealing the darkest part of herself reinforced the fact he was indeed the truest friend of her heart. She sobbed on his shoulder, the hot tears of grief soaking into his shirt as he rocked them both gently and murmured soft nothings in her ear.

It had been three days since the barrier in her mind had crumbled after a long, bloody ritual. Between recovering from the corruption that had spread throughout her body from the wound on her arm, the mental agony and disorientation of recovering her memories, and ensuring her enemy would never be able to harm another soul, she had been too busy to properly grieve the loss of her son. Here, in the safety of her own home, surrounded by the men she loved, she could finally loosen the iron grip she kept on her emotions enough to mourn the loss. Perinth had been her entire reason for living for all of his sixteen years of life. There was a hole in her heart that would never heal, a gaping wound that would never close. There were words to describe a child who has lost its parents, but there was no word in any language to describe a parent that has lost their child.

When Tyr felt her finally cry herself out, he held her for a bit longer, shifting so she could lay her head on his opposite shoulder. She felt him reach into her pocket and didn’t even fuss when he pilfered the handkerchief he knew was there and offered it to her with a flourish that elicited a slightly watery chuckle from her. A sparkle of silver drew her attention to the bracelet on his wrist, one she had made for him as a gesture of gratitude so many months ago. It touched her and nearly set her into tears again that he still wore it, just as she wore the doubloon he had gifted her that very same day.

“Thank you,” she pulled away slightly, touching the damp shoulder of his shirt with a trembling finger. “I’m sorry for getting your shirt wet.”

“If that’s the price I have to pay to make sure you’re alright, then it's one I’d happily pay a thousand times over, love.” He kissed her on the cheek and glanced over his shoulder to watch Alv come down the stairs, awkwardly holding a stack of handkerchiefs in his hand. Tyr ran his hands up and down her upper arms, looking into her eyes. “You might not want to hear it, but it wasn’t your fault. You were put in an impossible situation that no one would have reacted well to, not even us. We’ve all done things we regret, grey lady. You tried to protect your son. No one can fault you for that.”

“From what it sounds like, they were already dead the second your son set foot on Argus.” She flinched at Sev’s harsh tone, but Tyr nodded, confirming his lover’s words. Alv handed her the handkerchiefs, also nodding in agreement. Sev glared at her from over the back of the couch holding her eyes as he continued. “You’re beating yourself up for giving them a quick death instead of prolonging the torture that would have killed them anyway.”

“But-” she began, but was hushed by Alv. Tyr stepped back, allowing him to take his place. He drew her into his arms, kissing the top of her head. Lyra looked up at him, confused. Of all of them, she had expected Alv to be the one to pull away. He gave her a tiny smile, wiping away one of her tears before softly drawing her against his chest.

“No. Take it from people who know. Every best laid plans go to shit in the heat of battle.” Alv’s voice was a low rumble in her ear. “You made a decision, and it cost you greatly, but there was no right or wrong path to take in that instance. You did what you could, Sinnlyra.” She didn’t respond, but wiped her eyes and considered their words. The whispers sang to her, oddly enough confirming what each man had said. Whatever entity had reached out to her had done its best to try to help her, even if it backfired. She shuddered as the singing caressed her mind and held it at arm’s length, knowing that if she gave into its siren’s call right now, she would go under and never come up again. Alv tucked her head under his chin, his breath ruffling her hair as she considered their words.

“You may be right, but it won’t do anything to absolve me of my sins. Even if Caemil has paid for his.” When she finally spoke, her voice was hoarse. She pressed a hand to her eyes, repressing more tears. Alv nodded and tilted his chin down to kiss the top of her head again, his lips soft against her hair.

“One thing I’m confused about though, love. You said he was a warlock, though, even though he was teaching your son to be a mage?” Tyr asked quietly. She shook her head, her hair rasping against Alv’s chin. Tyr had joined Sev on the couch and had thrown his arm around the taller man’s shoulders. Sev was watching her and his brother, speculation in his eyes as he surveyed the pair.

“He wasn’t teaching my son to be a mage, in the end. The powers Perinth wielded on Argus were those of warlocks. There was no arcane in any spell he cast that day although I didn’t know the difference then.” She softly extracted herself from Alv’s embrace, though she smiled up at him to show her gratitude. She allowed him to lead her to her seat so she could continue speaking, though he perched on the arm of her chair to stay close. He kept one of her hands tucked in her own, stroking her fingers with his thumb. She squeezed his hand, and continued her tale. 

“Caemil had followed me to Mac’Aree and witnessed the whole thing. He checked to ensure Lanthon and Perinth were both dead, and upon discovering that I was still alive, brought me back to the Vindicaar. From there, I was stabilized and brought to a hospital to recover. He snuck in after hours to see me, not wanting to draw attention to what he was doing to me during those visits. It was during that time that he began building the barrier in my mind, effectively walling me off from my past. In his mind, I would be more… Flexible… In accepting him in my life if I had no memories to speak of.” She smiled grimly. “Unfortunately his meddling deepened the hold the Void had on my mind and body, and soon I began disturbing the other patients with psychic screams, void manifestations and the like. Just after the barrier had been erected, he was forced to leave to lay claim to what remained of the Lightsworn family fortunes and properties. It was then that the leaders of the ren’dorei were contacted, seeing as they were the ones who would best be able to handle the transformation my body was undergoing. They shipped me off to the Rift, effectively cutting me off from Caemil. He couldn’t find me. It angered him, but as he hadn’t felt his barrier break, he decided to bide his time and wait to rediscover my whereabouts.” 

“How do you know all of this?” Sev leaned forward. There was suspicion there. Tyr shifted, already knowing the likely answer though she hadn’t spoken of it to them. Lyra felt Alv’s hand clamp down on her own when he came to his own realization. Everyone in the room is uneasy about my powers, she thought sadly, though she would answer the question honestly.

“Torture is chancy at best at getting answers,” she replied, feeling herself slipping into that pool of numbness that had surrounded her while dealing with Caemil. “The Void is also full of misdirection, spoken truths and lies, and yet there is an aspect of that power that deals with the mind. There are methods to finding the truth among the lies, though I am not as proficient with them as others.” She paused, using her free hand to open a rift beside her. Reaching through, she felt around until she found the tome that she knew was buried in a locked cabinet in the workroom under her home that even her three knew nothing about. When she felt the leather book, she withdrew it and banished the rift, offering it to Sev with a small smile. 

“In this case, however, it wasn’t needed. Pipbis, my cleverest love, managed to find his workroom and give me enough information to go off of in order to rift into it safely. He was a rather prolific writer. There were hundreds of journals there detailing almost every aspect of his life.”

The tension in the room relaxed slightly. She knew all three of them had secrets they didn’t want her to know, though she would never betray their trust in that way. There was no one more intimately familiar with the pain of having their minds ripped open, all of the secrets, thoughts, and memories contained within laid bare for another to read at their leisure. Alv especially worried about that aspect of her powers, though he had not experienced it himself. Sev flipped open the diary she had given him and read a few lines, his brows furrowing as he did. He scowled and snapped it shut after only a few moments, reaching for the cigarette tucked behind his ear. He tossed the book onto the coffee table, side eyeing Lyra. Having read the contents of that particular book herself, she knew what prompted that sort of reaction from him. 

“Nasty fuck.” He muttered around his cigarette. When Alv leaned forward to read it, Sev flicked his arm out, a knife embedding itself through the tome to pin it to the table. Alv slowly retracted his hand, his eyes on his brother’s. There were no words spoken though it was clear something had transpired between them in the long moment they glared at one another. Lyra let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she had been holding and nodded to Sev gratefully. Tyr eyed the book, scratching his chin with a dagger but made no move to reach for it.

She had transported all of the journals to her own workroom to peruse at her leisure at a later date. Many contained information that could be used as blackmail against others. Details of deaths, sacrifices, profane rituals… And the inner workings of the Twilight’s Hammer cult. She was still unsure of how she wanted to handle that mass of information, but this one had contained the information she had needed most of all, even if other parts of it were rather unsavory.

“That particular book details the plans Caemil Lightsworn had for his remaining family after the majority of it was wiped out by the Scourge invasion of Quel’thalas. He was obsessed with vengeance against those that disowned him. There was very little sanity left in him, near the end, as evidenced by the rather twisted plots he concocted to kill his remaining family.” Lyra’s voice deepened as she slid into the cold anger she had felt while dealing with the man. She hesitated and added softly, “He also detailed rather… Heinous acts he wished to commit upon me that would have been… Less than consensual on my part.” She raised a hand and shook her head when Alv growled, reaching again for the book. “No, Alv, I don’t want you reading it.”

“Good thing the bastard’s dead,” Tyr’s eye flashed angrily. He threw his knife to join Sev’s, nearly splitting the book in two. “His would be a contract I’d do for free.” Rarely did the realization of just how dangerous these three were strike her, but in that moment she knew it was best she had handled that kill herself. They would have been far too merciful even in their anger. The wry, malicious smile that crossed her face was so unlike her that it caught Sev’s attention, making him eye her.

“He is dead.” It wasn’t a question from him. She merely smiled, making him narrow his eyes. Alv and Tyr focused on her, catching the odd, deadly expression on her face. Sev braced his elbows on his knees and pointed at her, the lit cigarette dangling between his fingers. “What the fuck did you do?”

“His body is dead, yes,” she crooned. “But I said nothing of his soul.” Sev took a long drag on his cigarette, the ember glowing almost malevolently, as he leaned back against the couch cushions. There was glittering speculation in his eyes as he surveyed her through half lowered eyelids.

“Explain.”

“Very well, my loves. Let’s end this tale, shall we?” The smile she gave them was purely predatory as she steepled her hands before her and continued her story.

\------------

Caemil relaxed before the fire, one hand idly hung over the top of a book of prophecy he had propped against his leg. In his other hand, a steaming cup of tea, which he occasionally laid aside in order to turn a page on his reading. So enthralled he was in the tome, he failed to notice the sound of his study door opening and closing until the distinctly loud click of the lock being thrown broke through his pleasant reverie. He looked up, frowning, knowing he had dismissed his servants for the night, and met the steely gaze of a woman with whom he was intimately familiar.

“Ah,” he said shortly, gently closing his book. The fire crackled as a log shifted, sending a flurry of sparks up the chimney. “Sinnlyra. This is an unexpected surprise.”

“Caemil.” He frowned at the faint raspy tone in her voice. He had heard her mention that she had screamed herself to the point of irrevocable damage to her vocal cords while lying dead to the world in her coma, but had dismissed the rasp as interference in the Eye of Kilrogg. She had changed in more blatant ways as well, but he had been prepared for that. The Void, after all, was the true primal force for manipulation in the universe. He idly laid his book and tea aside, slowly rising to approach his sister-in-law where she stood, a tall staff in her hands. She was as still as a statue and twice as beautiful in his eyes.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, songbird.” he said, taking her hand and bowing over it, brushing a faint kiss there. She said nothing, merely watching him, giving no reaction. How unlike his normally expressive, happy Sinnlyra. He frowned inwardly, but kept his face schooled in a mask of politeness at her appearance. Her hand was icy in his own, so cold it almost burned. He dropped it, shrugging, turning back to the fire. “I rather expected you to arrive on my doorstep at a much later date, Sinnlyra. You had seemed so happy in Stormwind in the new life you made for yourself.”

“And you would know about this… How?” Her voice was a low purr, sending a wave of pleasure down his spine. He turned, looking at her again with more consideration. Her lips quirked, though if it were a smile or grimace he couldn’t tell. Her eyes narrowed slightly, considering him. “If you were spying on me, Caemil, surely you could have at least stopped by to say hello? After all we are… Bound… Together in some way. An Eye of Kilrogg or three is much less personal than just coming to speak with me.”

“My my, you have become a delightful little minx, haven’t you?” He couldn’t quite keep the admiration out of his voice. His Light bound brother had never fully realized the potential his spouse had, but here she was, in all her dark glory, finally free of the fetters that had kept her shackled to a plebeian life. Cho’gall had been right, he mused, drinking in her appearance. Her dabbling in the arcane had never been anything extraordinary, but now that she was fueled by the Void and fel, she had transformed into a magnificent woman. She wore a dress he knew to be one of her own creations, a sleek number with silver and black embroidery on the shoulders, a long train and winglike sleeves falling gracefully to the floor in a tumble of black silk. He frowned at the sight of a golden doubloon around her neck and dismissed it with a thought, knowing that soon, her little friendships would no longer pose an issue. He would deal with those rapscallions later, particularly the demon hunter.

He smiled to himself. Their deaths would be agonizing, all for the glory of N’zoth.

“I wouldn’t know what you’re talking about, considering I still barely know anything about myself… Or you.” There was a hint of tartness in her voice there, a tone she had only used on Lanthon in her most angered moments, and it displeased him to hear it being used towards him. Seeing him frown, she softened her tone, giving him a coy smile. Her hand stroked the long column of the staff, drawing attention to her graceful hands. “Pray tell, Caemil, what is it you did to prevent my memories from coming back?”

He leaned against his desk, smiling at her as he watched her hand on the staff for any sign of a magical signature. “A necessary precaution, my dear. You did see some rather nasty things on Argus. I was afraid you wouldn’t return to me if you could quite remember everything. Losing my brother and your son… Well. We were all shaken by those events, but you more so than I. It was to help you cope, songbird.” Caemil had told himself this lie so many times that it was a simple thing to convey it as truth. He toyed with a letter opener on his desk, the silvered blade glinting in the firelight. She looked so becoming, fading into shadows like she did. Her cool grey skin and hair were a lovely development, he thought, much like the knife in his hands. Shame the lightning scarred her face and eye, but the way she had her hair styled hid it nicely. She was still his perfect Sinnlyra, after all. He felt the familiar pang of desire in his breast, followed by an unfamiliar euphoria. She was free now, free to choose him, to finally choose him.

“Ah… I see. A kindness, in your mind, even at the cost of my own.” She smiled prettily at him, continuing to caress the staff in her hand. A spark of void energy coalesced at it’s tip and wound its way down the glowing wood and leather, wrapping one tendril around her wrist like a bracelet. She let go of the weapon and it stood upright, held in place by only a thread of her power. He tensed, his smile frozen, when he sensed the strength building behind that small thread. He, a warlock himself, was in tune with the powers she had tapped into though he had never commanded the energy he felt growing in her hands.

“Tell me, Caemil,” she whispered, taking a step toward him, the butt of the staff clicking softly as it dragged against the wood floor. “What did happen on Argus?” 

Caemil licked his lips, a faint sense of alarm rising in his mind as he watched that coil of void energy twist up her arm like a silk scarf. It swirled around her, caressing her skin like he had dreamed of doing every night for the past three and a half years. She had been a delightful upset in this quest for vengeance against his family. Though she had been a rather gawky child, she had since matured into a lovely adult. Her soft, beautiful face had immediately captured his heart when he interviewed for the position as her brat’s tutor. Then, her azure blue eyes, raven’s wing black hair, and golden complexion had merely intrigued him. Now, the porcelain goddess that stood before him drove him to the point of obsession.

“Now, my songbird, you shouldn’t be playing with powers you don’t understand.” He cautioned, twisting the letter opener against one fingertip so a drop of blood welled under the dull tip.“The Void is not a plaything.” He ignored the question. A gentle nudge of his power showed that the part of his barrier that concealed the truth from her was still intact. 

There was no way he was going to allow her to remember that particularly nasty memory, not when he was so entwined with the fate of her child. The brat had been too powerful, too successful at his young age. It had been best to nip that sort of talent in the bud before he became more of a threat, though it would have been much more enjoyable to twist him further into the service of the Old Gods. The war with the Legion had been a more opportune moment than he had anticipated. It had been simple enough to corrupt the boy, first by bolstering his confidence into sheer hubris, then challenging him into proving himself against his father. The resentment there had been almost more powerful than the whispers of the Old Gods that coursed through the wand he had gifted the boy, further tipping him into insanity under the unsuspecting, naive eyes of his poor, overworked mother. The final confrontation hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but even he could not have dreamed his precious Sinn would have turned to the Void and become the magnificent avatar of darkness she was now.

She shared an equally pleasant smile, pushing her hair back from her face to expose the scar that marred her otherwise perfect face. It crackled, shattering across her face, giving her the appearance of a broken porcelain doll. He licked the droplet of blood from his fingertip, readying a curse in his mind. He hadn’t gotten this far by not being cautious, after all, though he was loath to harm her. She raised her free hand once again, and it was only then he realized his mistake. The scar on her face cracked again, her smile turning maniacal, when she saw realization dawn in his eyes.

“I know, Caemil. But fortunately for both of us, I am no novice.”

One by one, demons began to manifest in his study. A pair of cackling dreadstalkers flanked her skirts, followed closely by a massive felstalker, it’s tendrils fixated on his hand where he had been calling in his powers. It growled low in its throat, the tentacles lashing toward him, restrained only by her raised hand. A massive wrathguard flanked his desk, idly swinging an enormous axe between its two hands, the air humming where the weapon passed. It scowled at him, clearly displeased to be there. He swallowed, feeling a brush of the void to his left, and flinched away from a towering voidwalker that flickered into being next to him. Tendrils of its power reached for him even as its incorporeal form shifted in and out of the shadows. A sudden caress down the back of his neck followed by a seductive giggle told him a shivvarah had also been called. A pack of imps gamboled from behind Sinnlyra, followed by a large vilefiend, its poisonous slobber hissing where it fell, scarring the wooden floor. The acidic scent of it’s deadly toxins warred with the perfume of the shivvarah’s skin and the overpowering stench of brimstone and fel. All the while, Sinnlyra stood there, her hand still raised, smiling at him politely as if they had chanced upon one another in the market. Her staff twisted in the air, the conduit for the portals that had called her demonic allies from the Nether. She gestured with her free hand, sending it to neatly lean against the wall as she approached him.

“Now, tell me. What exactly must be done to remove the block you have placed on my mind?” Her voice was calm, pleasant even, with a hint of flirtation. The demons around her fell silent, their attentions fixated on him as if they, too, waited for his answer. He paused, realizing that they were. The shivvarah, sensing his mood, giggled again, her six arms slowly wrapping themselves around him in a seductive caress. She laid a kiss in his ear, making him swallow a moan of desire even as he readied himself for an attack. “What must I do in order for me to regain my full self so that we may… Move on?”

The shivarra screeched a warning, but too late. The letter opener flew, but Sinnlyra was too slow to step out of the way. It embedded itself deeply in her left forearm, making the demons howl with fury at seeing their mistress’s blood run. She turned her arm, inspecting the wound, and it was only then that he realized she hadn’t even flinched when the blade stabbed through her flesh. That same, coldly polite smile crossed her face when she turned her gaze back to him, grabbed the hilt of the letter opener, and slowly withdrew it. Blood stained the dull blade as she inspected it, shushing her minions with a softly crooned order. The dull edge of the letter opener gleamed for a moment before she tossed it in the fire, following it with a burst of shadowflame, obliterating it entirely.

“That was a mistake,” she said softly, her eyes going hard. The twin dreadstalkers snarled at him, stepping forward as if to rip him apart until she calmed them with a soft touch. The felstalker snapped and hissed, the magic eating tentacles on its back whipping madly towards the wound. Already he could see his curse taking hold of it, preventing healing and spreading corruption throughout her body. “You, of all people, should know that blood fuels our powers.” 

“And yet the curse within that blade will affect you long after my death,” he snarled. The shivarra hissed in his ear, though her six hands continued to caress, stroke, and elicit delightful shivers from his body. Sinnlyra stopped before him, so close he could smell the heat of her blood as she leaned forward to stare at him. Her perfume washed over him making his desire for her war with his fear. The shivarra laid kisses up and down his neck as two of her hands slipped under his shirt, freezing him in place. He repressed a moan, then started, realizing what was happening. The demoness who held him prone was laying a charm spell on his mind, enhancing his reactions to Sinnlyra. She smiled at him when he realized what she was doing as she bent over his chest.

Sinnlyra began unbuttoning his shirt, one at a time, watching his face from beneath the shadow of her lashes. He watched her right hand move to the wound he had inflicted on her, small motes of power at the tip of each finger collecting some of the blood that flowed freely from the angry gash. She laid her stained fingertips on his now bare chest, drawing runes across his skin in neatly elegant script. Shadows began to coalesce around her nails on her left hand as she drew with her right, making them elongate into wickedly sharp points of purple crystal that chimed slightly when they touched. The shivarra’s charm held him prone, unable to do anything but helplessly listen to Sinnlyra hum a few bars of a popular love song, her eyes slightly unfocused as she continued to dip her fingers in her own blood and sketch on his skin.

When she finished drawing her runes, she smiled at him politely and plunged the claws into the center of his chest over his heart. He screamed as she began draining his life force into her own body, the cut on her arm slowly closing as her power warred with the curse he had tied to the blade. When the skin healed enough to stop the bleeding, she stopped, pulling her hand away to leave the crystals embedded in his flesh. He panted from the pain, each breath sending a trickle of blood around the base of the splinters. She turned away for a moment, considering the healing wound on her arm, then turned and smashed her hand against one crystal, driving it further into his tortured skin. She watched him writhe and scream dispassionately until he fell silent once again. 

“Now that we’ve gotten that particular trouble out of the way, you’ll be telling me everything I need to know in order to regain the rest of my memories.” A tiny imp leapt onto the desk and then into her arms, purring with pleasure when she stroked its head affectionately. Caemil felt sick as he watched it lick the remaining blood off of her hand and arm, but chose to ignore her demand, wondering if he could buy himself time enough to summon his own demonic minions. Sinnlyra flicked a glance to one of her demons and inclined her head slightly. The wrathguard stalked to the desk, sheathing its axe on its back. He grabbed Caemil by the throat, making the man choke as the shivarra giggled and got out of the way, blowing her fellow demon a kiss. Once she was clear, the wrathguard slammed the smaller man into the top of the desk, knocking the wind out of him so that he couldn’t even scream when the rest of the crystals embedded in his chest shattered on impact. Sinnlyra smiled, continuing to pet the imp as Caemil struggled to release the iron grip around his neck. The only sound in the room were his choked gurgles and the chittering of the imp. The rest of the demons were eerily still, only the rise and fall of their chests and occasional growl indicating their presence.

“I know you weren’t just considering summoning your demons, pet,” she said softly. She looked down at the imp in her arms, crooning to it. “You see, while Pipbis here might be one of the smallest of its kind, it has an uncanny amount of intelligence. Making a pact with it was the best decision I ever made. My most faithful and loyal pet found the sigils I needed to block any attempts that you would make to call in your own minions.” 

“Those sigils were locked inside-” he rasped through his bruised throat, stilling when the massive Voidwalker gilded forward to hand her a tome he recognized as one of his journals. She arched a brow at him when she turned to the creature that undulated in and out of the shadows.

“Inside your workroom, yes.” She finished for him, accepting the tome from the ethereal creature. She allowed it to fall open in her hand and read a few lines before turning to him, tsking him slightly over what was written there. The vilefiend behind her hissed in a reflection of her mood, the puddle of acid under its slobbering maw filling the room with an acrid stench. She caressed it, stilling its axe-like head. “You see, Caemil, after you so rudely began spying on me, I decided to pay you the same courtesy. However, instead of using an Eye of Kilrogg like a mere novice, I used.... More advanced methods.” The imp snickered as she raised it to her shoulders so it could twine its tiny claws in her hair, nuzzling her ear.

“You see, your first mistake was enslaving your minions instead of befriending them. They were all too willing to agree to not help you, so long as sigils were in place to help them resist your commands. They were also a wealth of untapped knowledge. You shouldn’t have treated them so harshly, my dear. Demons can be ever so resentful of mistreatment.” The dreadstalkers crooned as she reached down and caressed their skeletal heads. The imps chittered and gamboled around her skirts as she walked to join the wrathguard where it still choked the man into silence. A soft touch on the demon’s arm had him relax his hold enough that Caemil could breathe, but not talk. “Thank you, Az. It wouldn’t do to smother our host before the real fun begins. You’ll be allowed to take your enjoyment from his pain momentarily.” She slid a hand down his exposed chest, stopping just short of his belt and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “You see, Caemil, you call me “your Sinn,” in your journals and yet… Do you know what your real sin is?”

A flash of a wicked expression was the only warning he had before she snapped the book closed and raked razor sharp claws into his stomach. She raised her hand, revealing once more that she had turned her fingertips into daggers of void crystal, his blood dripping from the sharpened tips.

“Hubris.” She hissed through his choked screams. “You got cocky, Caemil, toying with me and getting away with it for so long. I knew who you were after the last Eye of Kilrogg you sent my way. I saw your face. I touched your mind and pinpointed exactly where and what you were to me. It was easy enough to discover your workshop, especially with how careless you’ve been at masking your signature in the Nether. I’ve been down there for hours and you didn’t even sense it. Your overconfidence has cost you dearly.” He felt a lance of pain across his mind and screamed again, remembering the day she had hooked her mental claws into his mind and shredded his thoughts. He had thought that he had managed to break the connection before she had managed to gain an upper hand. It was clear to him now that she held his mind in a mental cage that he had been so, terribly wrong. The mental pain warred with the physical and won out by a long shot until she relaxed her icy grip on his thoughts enough for him to speak.

“Do it, bitch.” He spit at her, feeling her tighten her hold on his mind again. As painful as it was, he realized she wasn’t even making an effort to read his thoughts. Caemil barked a laugh. “Rip my thoughts to shreds, find out the truth of who and what you are. You’ll regret everything the second that barrier in your mind comes down.” With a growl, the wrathguard tightened its grasp on his throat again, choking off whatever else he would have added with a wheeze.

“No.” 

The demons swirled around her, their eyes burning brightly in the dim light of his study. The shivarra once again took her place at his head, kissing and nibbling his ear and neck, giggling when he struggled. The pain from his various injuries coursed through his body when he moved, forcing him to lie still under the massive arm of the demon that held him prone. Its eyes glittered with grim satisfaction as it watched the blood run sluggishly from his wounds to pool on the desk beneath him. “I have already located the spell that locked my memories away, Caemil. Thank you for being such a detailed writer, by the way. Though just to confirm….” The shivarra giggled and whispered another charm spell in his ear, putting him completely under the demoness’s thrall. “Tell me, Caemil, how do I break this pretty little spell?”

“The spell can only be broken by me,” he said, repressing a moan as the shivvarah caressed his chest. Sinnlyra stopped before him, so close he could smell her perfume. Lavender, roses, and apple blossoms, he thought as the shivvarah laid light kisses up and down his neck. “It was keyed in a way that you would regain your memories slowly, under a set of circumstances. Keywords, certain moments in your life, and… When I felt like it. It cannot be broken except by my death otherwise. It is keyed to my heart, and my heart alone. Without it, or my breaking it myself, it will remain intact.” He raged in the back of his mind at revealing that to her, but was unable to break the spell that made the truth pour from his lips. The imp on Sinnlyra’s shoulder chittered angrily and spat on him, the fat wad of saliva hitting him squarely on the chest.

He swallowed, his mind drifting to the night he had watched her in Booty Bay from behind a mask, seeing her sitting on the roof of a building laughing with a group of strangers. How enraged he had felt that she had not been there on his arm, choosing instead to spend time with a pirate and other unsavory types. He had let the spell slip slightly after that night, hoping memories of Argus would frighten her away from the scoundrels that seemed to show up around her at the most inopportune times. He had considered releasing all of her memories in a moment of fury after watching her cozy up to the pirate, but decided against it, knowing that the flood of information would have shattered her mind. Instead, he had toyed with her as he watched her go about her life.

The final straw had been the demon hunter. He had watched, enraged, as she had slowly begun falling in love with a man more demon than elf. He had sought her out in Stormwind once after watching her at the Wonderlight Ball, hoping to pose as someone seeking a commission and had instead chanced upon her leaving the Redoubt on the arm of that… Creature. Watching the man lean over to kiss her and having her throw her arms around him with wanton abandon had decided him to keep a closer eye on her to see if he could find a way to drive his competition away. Instead it had driven her more firmly into the arms of the man and her friends, so unlike the Sinn he had known from before who would have withdrawn into the safety of her own home. The shivvarah’s purr turned to a hiss in his ear as if she could sense his thoughts.

“That’s what I thought. You’ve been a naughty lad, haven’t you, Caemil? Threats against me I could have forgiven but… You also are a threat to those I hold dear.” Sinnlyra drew closer, her skirts whispering across the floor almost like the hiss of the demon in his ear. She stopped before him, her body a mere fraction of an inch away from his own. She looked down at him through the shadow of her lashes, and leaned toward him, her lips a mere whisper away from his own. All he had to do was lean forward and capture her mouth with his own, as he had so dreamed of doing for nearly three years. And yet, something held him back. She reached up and traced his jawline with a single clawed finger, sending chills down his spine even as another line of blood followed in its wake.

“A wise decision, really, to key the spell to your own heart,” she whispered, the gentle rush of her breath against his cheek startling a moan out of him. He knew the charm spell had overwhelmed his mind when the pain that coursed through his body became waves of pleasure instead. “Because, darling Caemil, I would have carved it out of your chest and shown it to you even if it wasn’t what was needed to free me.”

She snapped the fingers on her raised hand, her smile taking a creepy, malicious edge as her demonic minions approached, their eerie eyes glowing in the dimming light of his study. She faded in and out of the growing shadows in the room, tendrils of void energy flowing around her like silk through water. It was fascinating, watching his beloved in all of her dark power, even if it meant his death. Those same tendrils of void slipped around his wrists and ankles, caressing his skin even as they drew tight. He found himself completely bound, unable to move, his fear growing as he was pinned spread eagle to the desk. Cho’gall had laughed when he said he would gain everything he lusted after, but for the highest of prices. Too late, he realized what the prophecy meant as his beloved Sinnlyra, the only woman he had ever wanted in the world, turned into a perfect conduit of fel and void.

“Be sure to scream for them, Caemil,” he heard her say softly in her lovely sing-song voice. He watched her draw a long, ornate dagger from her skirt, testing the edge against her thumb in the flickering glow of fel fire that surrounded them. “My little darlings love it when I treat them to dinner and a show.”

\------------

“Wait, wait, wait, wait… So you actually carved his heart out and fed the rest of him to demons? Sick!” Tyr exclaimed. He leaned forward eagerly, his ears practically quivering from excitement. When she nodded at him, he sat back and lightly punched Sev on the arm. “See? Told you she had it in her.” Sev remained silent, spinning and tapping his pack of cigarettes in his hands while he stared at the floor. Tyr turned back to her again, his ponytail whipping Sev’s shoulder. “You’re going to give us all the details right? What part did Az go for? Knowing him it was probably the di-” Sev elbowed him sharply in the diaphragm, stopping that line of questioning. Tyr wheezed, rubbing the spot.

“Fucking hell, Lyra.” Alv’s voice held a hint of heat making a blush rise in her cheeks before she even glanced over at him. “Guess I can’t call you an imp anymore, can I?” He reached out again and caressed her hand with his own, his eyes brighter than normal in the now dim interior of her home. He looked at her as if he had never truly seen her before, as if he had never considered this side of her and yet still liked what he saw. There was respect and pride there, yes, but also something more she couldn’t quite name until it hit her. He looked at her with the same desire he had in his eyes the night of the Wonderlight Ball when he had first called her beautiful.

“No, I suppose not,” she teased, giving him a look full of her unspoken love for him. “Though that was always your nickname, not mine.” He didn’t respond to her teasing but raised her hand to his lips, leveling a wicked, knowing grin at her before pressing a kiss to her palm. The moment was broken when one of her decorative pillows flew across the room to smack him solidly in the face.

“Next time it’ll be a knife if you keep that shit up, Stinky.” Tyr said cheerfully, readying another pillow when Alv snarled and threw it back. Sev didn’t even look up, merely raising his hand to catch the cushion that whizzed towards his head and placing it neatly next to him, clearly still thinking. Alv and Tyr gave one another matching grins full of mischief that spelled nothing but trouble for her home as battle lines were drawn between the two of them. She sighed, mentally preparing to have to replace at least one vase and two throw pillows before their antics were done unless they chose to set aside their chaotic selves and listen to her for once.

“Gentlemen, please.” Lyra said wearily. “If you’re going to tussle like a pair of adolescents, go do it outside and give the guards some fun. They could use the practice.” They both grinned at her, reaching for improvised weapons until Sev glanced up at her sharply, the pack of cigarettes stilling in his hands.

“So what’d you do with it?” His words cut through the antics of his brother and lover. Sev leaned back, crossing his arms, his eyes on her own. Without breaking his gaze, she opened another void rift next to her and reached into it, withdrawing an item she still felt uneasy about keeping within her own home. Since their gazes were locked, she didn't miss the slight widening of his eyes when he realized what she held in her hands. The clear crystal filled with violet smoke hung from a band of silver metal tipped with demon claws. Shimmering green magic pulsed rhythmically in the center, mimicking a heartbeat. She waved a hand, clearing the void smoke from the crystal, revealing a beating heart embedded on shards of crystallized void in the center of the reliquary.

“Let us just say Caemil Lightsworn has finally achieved his greatest desire, considering I stole his heart and soul entirely.” She replied softly, stroking the crystal. The heart beat erratically for a moment in response to her touch, the fel magic that powered it flashing across its surface. The shadows swirled again, concealing the heart from sight. “After using it and mind magic to break what remained of the barrier that blocked my memories, I created this to tether his immortal soul to this world. By then, the heart was so suffused with the Void it became the perfect prison for him. What little remains of Caemil Lightsworn is forever bound within the confines of his heart, trapped within the same sort of barrier he had created in my mind.” She bared her teeth in a malicious smile. “Call it poetic justice, if you will. Only I will not be stupid enough to allow the barrier to crumble.”

“Lyra. That… Is fuckin’ wicked.” Tyr’s exuberant reaction nearly caught her off guard as he practically bounced off the couch, reaching for the reliquary in her lap. The lingering whispers in her mind gave warning, forcing Lyra to stand and meet him. She twisted her hand so a thin blade of crystallized void manifested in her palm, snaking the blade up to his throat. His eye widened with surprise that she had somehow managed to catch him off guard, though it didn’t last long. She saw Sev tense out of the corner of her eye and shook her head as she held the reliquary at arm’s length away from Tyr. Her heart hammered with panic at the thought of the magics she had bound within the reliquary reaching out and harming Tyr. He had no experience with this sort of foul energy and ran the risk of being trapped within it himself. Alv remained seated, laughing to himself that it was Tyr’s turn to be held at knifepoint.

“Don’t worry, Sev, I’m not going to gut your lover, not so long as he keeps his thieving hands to himself,” she said tartly trying to hide her fear that Tyr had nearly unintentionally harmed himself. “Besides, he does listen so charmingly at the end of a knife.” The whispers sang another warning, saying she was pushing the boundaries of Sev’s temper so she withdrew the blade, twisting her hand again so it disappeared in a curl of smoke. From the corner of her eye she saw Sev relax again, though she knew death would have been upon her before she even registered his movement. While the Void had sharpened her reflexes, they would never be fast enough to match him with a blade. Tyr rubbed his neck, his exuberance not dimmed in the slightest by being threatened with a knife. If anything, seeing her get slightly violent only encouraged him. Lyra twisted her hand in his shirt, forcing him to look at her with a wry grin.

“Tyrvalin, you may look, but not touch. Steal whatever you wish from this house down to the very foundation it rests on, but this can and will destroy you if you handle it. Do not. Touch. The reliquary.” She emphasised her words with a small tug on his shirt until he held up his hands in defeat and sighed mightily. “I mean that with everything in me, my love. I do not want to lose you because you couldn’t keep your grubby little pirate paws to yourself.”

“Alright, alright, I get it, you’re possessive of your arts and crafts project. No touching the creepy heart, aye. And that’s just Tyr to you, Lyra.” The jaunty salute he gave her did nothing to ease her concerns. There was something about the way he continued to stare at the crystal and silver creation in her hand that had her concerned. Sev stood, side eyeing her as he approached the pair. He leaned down, inspecting the reliquary, but made no move to touch it. 

“She’s right. Don’t touch it. It’ll do worse than kill you. Goes for you too, dumbass.” Sev jerked his chin at Alv, who merely nodded. Lyra wasn’t surprised that Alv had made no move to touch it. It would not come as a shock to her to discover that he had studied shadow magic at some point in his past, knowing what little she did of his history. Surprise flashed across Tyr’s face at his lover reinforcing her command, but he didn’t protest. She let go of his shirt, giving it a flick and watching with satisfaction that the small tailoring enchantments she had woven into the cloth were holding when the wrinkles smoothed themselves out of it in seconds. She caressed his cheek, following it with a quick kiss to show she wasn’t really angry with him. Sev straightened again, scowling at her. “When the fuck did you learn to make reliquaries? That’s necromancy.”

“I’ll tell you that if you tell me how you know that practice is considered necromancy.” When Sev continued to glower at her, she shrugged and smiled at him prettily, drawing the reliquary back to her chest. The whispers sang to her, a soft caress in her mind. Contact with the crystal chilled her even through the cloth of her dress as though the twisting, corrupted void inside were trying to draw her into their dark embrace. Tyr continued to eye it, but this time with his hands tucked firmly in his pockets. She felt the heart stirring through the magic, the soul bound within it sluggishly reacting to her presence. “Some secrets are meant to be kept in the shadows, my dear.”

“Sure.” He growled, jerking his chin at Tyr to go take a seat back on the couch. Tyr shrugged and flopped back onto it, hooking one knee over the armrest before pulling out a flask and draining it. “Didn’t expect you to snap so fast though. Knew it would happen someday, but not this soon.” He shrugged and turned away from her, pulling a matchbook from his pocket.

“Sev, he knew who you were.” Her soft words were met with silence. He turned back to her, his face impassive. She gestured with her free hand, her face grim. “He knew who all of you were. Your faces, your names, places he knew you frequent often. I don’t know how, but he knew. Not about your pasts, of course, though he was trying to obtain that information as well. Anyone who has had any sort of passing relation to me, he knew about.” Anger suffused her once again at the thought of the book that had contained the names and pictures of all of her loved ones. She had burned it the second she had a free moment, scattering the ashes in the winds of the Telogrus Rift. “He was too dangerous to leave alive. That was his role within the Twilight’s Hammer. Information broker, spy, front man. He was meticulous in his information gathering, especially about someone he had obsessed over for years.”

“So you bound his soul to a reliquary.” There was a hint of anger in Sev’s voice, though his hand stirred slightly toward Tyr’s as if to touch it. She nodded, her arm tightening around her macabre creation. She didn’t think the anger was directed at her, but she owed him an explanation. Tyr pulled his lover down beside him and slung his arm around the night elf’s waist, relaxing against him even as the other man continued to regard her stiffly from across the room.

“I couldn’t risk him being raised as a death knight. There are those out there with the power to bring souls back and bind them into new bodies, even if they are not their own. He had that contingency planned as well.” She sighed, ripping open a new rift and placing the reliquary within it. “The Twilight’s Hammer was busy in Uldum, Darkshore, and the Vale of Eternal Blossoms with the resurgence of N’zoth, but they would have gotten to it eventually. Their masters were urging them to action, though Caemil was in more of a support role than the type to risk his neck on the front lines. This way, his soul is out of reach, and therefore no longer a threat.” When the rift snapped shut, she scrubbed her hands on her skirt to remove the lingering feeling of disgust she felt whenever she handled it.

“Will they be coming after you since you killed him?” She started, not even realizing that Alv had stood to join her. He tilted her chin up at him, his face dark with concern. “Is there any risk there?”

“No, not unless they’re able to sift through several tons of ash and debris to find what little remained of his body. And even then, well.” She smiled maliciously, reaching out to stroke his arm. “You cannot blame demons that are no longer tethered for eating their abusive former master, now can you? They carried off and scattered what little remained into the Nether in exchange for the freedom I was able to offer them. None of my magical signatures remained in the end, just his own.” They shared matching feral grins before he bent down and whispered something in ancient Darnassian in her ear. Based on the quickly repressed grin Sev gave his brother followed by a gagging noise, she could only assume it was either dirty or romantic. She exchanged a glance with Tyr, silently asking if he understood and received a shrug in response as he drained the remains of his flask.

“Imp, one of these days you’re going to have to tell me exactly what that means.” She murmured back, kissing him softly on the cheek. He laughed and toyed with one of her curls, looking rather smug despite a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

“Not a chance, Lyra.” Alv shifted, propping his elbow on her shoulder and leaning on her. Despite his tendency to be annoying, she welcomed the solid contact, leaning her cheek against his arm. He glanced at his brother, leveling him a wicked look. “And don’t you dare think to tell her, either.”

“That’s between the two of you.” Sev muttered after rolling his eyes. Tyr sighed, looking utterly betrayed by the emptiness of his flask as he mournfully tucked it back on his person. Lyra knew it was one of his last and caught his eye, flicking hers to one of the cupboards where she kept several bottles of rum just for him. He mockingly blew her a kiss and shook his head slightly, relaxing instead next to Sev.

“So there’s no risk anymore.” Sev asked, settling himself next to Tyr, who immediately shifted so he could lean against him. The larger man slowly relaxed without even realizing it the moment they touched one another, his arm carelessly draping across Tyr’s chest. Tyr reached up and plucked a few cat hairs off of his shirt, flicking them off onto the carpet with an amused snort. “You’re certain?”

“Absolutely, though if you are concerned I will make more gold available to pay additional agents to look into the matter on our behalf,” she replied firmly, shifting her stance as Alv slowly began to put more weight on his arm. She gave him a warning glance and poked him in the side, the actions doing nothing but encourage him to lean harder. “I confiscated what was needed, burned the rest, and sent my demons off to scatter what little remained in the Nether. Pipbis and its friends had a delightful time wreaking havoc on his work space. They mentioned something about wanting to request a few favors from some wyrmtongues with some of the items we found there.” She gave a one shouldered shrug, the one currently being weighed down by Alv not even moving. “My demons were thorough, and I stayed until it was nothing but ashes. I went back today before sending you here, and nothing had been disturbed. If there is a remaining threat, I very much so doubt they’ll know it was me.”

“Take caution for a while, though grey lady.” Tyr’s voice held a warning. Sev nodded in agreement, flipping the matchbook between his fingers. “You never know who’s out there that could want you dead.”

“I know that now,” she replied sadly. “But I know I’m prepared for it now if push comes to shove.” Alv stopped leaning on her and instead wrapped his arm around her, tucking her neatly against his chest. All of the emotions of the day were finally catching up with her, leaving her slightly exhausted. Even the slight singing in her head seemed softer, more gentle than before as if even the Void had tired from the day’s confessions.

“Hey,” he said softly, “You’ve got us, Sinnlyra. We’ll help keep you safe. You’re not alone anymore.” Tyr fumbled at one of his boots, pulling yet another flask out with a satisfied grin and raised it in a toast while Sev gave one short, jerky nod, reaffirming his brother’s words. Alv hugged her around the shoulders, grinning down at her with the cocky, yet adoring smile she had come to love in the past months of their acquaintance.

“You’re right,” she replied, sliding her arms around him and resting her head on his chest. The last of the icy grasp of the Void faded in the face of the warmth the three men had brought into her life, their support and friendship meaning the world to her. “I am no longer alone.”


End file.
